


Villains with Benefits

by temarcia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Creepy Fluff, Dark Comedy, Drabble, Fear Play, Funny, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Scriddler, Spooky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temarcia/pseuds/temarcia
Summary: Their relationship is strange at best but there are some benefits to this situation.





	1. Studies on germaphobia

Letting out a soft, muffled grunt Edward rolled to the side and forced himself to open his tired eyes. The sight he registered was unnerving – the room being the same old mess it had been the night before – just for some reason it hadn’t mattered yesterday while now it clearly disturbed him.

Sunbeams were coming from above, through the dirty skylight, revealing all the dust hanging in the air of the cramped attic. The old-fashioned carpet sported multiple stains, easily visible in the light of day. Something dark, that looked like dried blood was smeared on the wooden floor, partially hidden under the said carpet. Clothes were laying around everywhere in an utter disorder, he spotted his shirt hanging from a sad excuse of a classy chandelier. He sighed. It was time to go.

Getting up from probably the most uncomfortable of beds he’s had the questionable pleasure to sleep on, Edward wished his back didn’t hurt so much as he bent down to collect his pants from the floor. He’d take a seat to pull them on but the rocking chair in the corner was too stuffed with books, and sitting on the bed was a poor idea for a different reason.

Balancing on one leg, he began to dress up.

“Leaving so soon?”

The voice coming from the bed caught him unprepared and, of course, still undressed; Riddler let go of the pants trying his best not to fall.

“What’s the hurry? Am I so repulsive that you rather disappear before I wake up?”

“I’m not in a hurry,” Edward denied, turning his head to face the man he had spent the night with.

Crane was staring at him with his cold, judging gaze, deliberately making the situation more unsettling than it already was. “You were putting on your pants inside out,” he pointed out bluntly.

Riddler winced, realizing that stupid Scarecrow was right.

“I’m just tired. I had a rather sleepless night, as you know very well.”

“I don’t recall you asking me to let you sleep.”

“That’s because your memory is lacking, old man,” he retorted angrily and crossed his arms. His body covered with absolutely nothing but socks and green pants wrapped around his ankles. “I – on the other hand – have a perfectly-good recall, and I remember when you said that you had better things to do. So I assume, I already overstayed my welcome in this dumpster you dare to call hideout.”

Crane’s emotionless expression cracked a little as a nasty smirk appeared on his bruised face.

“I had indeed other things to do, and yet I chose to do you…”

“Oh, don’t you even try to insult me, Crane!”

“I didn’t intend to,” the man on the bed was serious again. “It was a compliment, Edward. I’m changing my schedule for you. So how about you stay longer?”

Scarecrow’s skinny hand lifted the dirty blanket with an inviting gesture. Riddler hesitated, he really didn’t like this place, and it was almost noon, he really should be going…

“Fine,” he muttered, leaving his pants on the floor and returning to the most uncomfortable bed ever. As soon as he got there, the warm blanket covered his body, instantly making him feel more relaxed.

A moment later, cold, slender fingers made contact with his skin; long fingernails traveled a path from his left hip up, and over his navel. The touch as light as day, and yet it made Edward shiver. He caught the teasing hand with his own, then slowly guided it lower.

“You better make it worth my while.”


	2. Everything but pleasure

Sleeping with another person was everything but pleasure.

The needless closeness made him uncomfortable, the scent of another body invaded his senses, and the worst of it all was obviously the wriggling. He knew from observation that people rarely stayed still while asleep and constant shifting, twitching, sometimes even getting up in the middle of the night would certainly not help his chronic insomnia. No, sleeping with another person was definitely not for someone like Jonathan Crane.

He thought so until he found this one exception.

The Riddler.

Sleeping with Edward was something else; and not because of any kind of sexual activity the two of them happened to participate in every now and then, which by the way was often as awkward as it could get. Sleeping with Edward Nigma was exceptional for an entirely different reason – Jonathan had found out about it one particular night after the ‘incident’ including Scarecrow’s not-too-smart henchmen, an angry Riddler and Riddler’s trade-mark cane in action.

Long story short, the silly, green weapon had turned out to be more lethal than one would have expected; but what had really done it for Jonathan had not been the blood, neither the pure fury Edward had delivered the blows with and not even the beautiful screams of the henchman who had his face destroyed. No, what had done it for Scarecrow had been the look on the other goons’ faces – the look of sheer terror. They had been in fear – fear of the Riddler. It hadn’t taken long for Jon’s hands to find Edward’s waist and wrap themselves around it, with greedy fingers burying deep, hungry for the flesh.

When all had been said and done, Jonathan had still been skeptical about the whole idea of sleeping together. Looking at it now, he was glad he had stayed – if not for that night, he wouldn’t have discovered that Edward suffered from such delightful nightmares.

Shifting and wriggling had never been so pleasant, Scarecrow remembered smiling to himself while listening to the 'No! No, I did not cheat!’ and 'Don’t touch me, you moron!” coming from the other side of the bed. It had been almost like on his precious fear toxin: moans, strangled shouts, trembling and perspiring – and it had made him long for more nights like this to come.

And they did come, of course.


	3. Technically speaking

"So?" The voice on the other side of the line sounded impatient, to say the least. Scarecrow could sense a hint of annoyance – music to his ears. "Is it working?"

“No,” he replied calmly, not wanting to trigger the Riddler just yet.

“Really? Well, that's new – it works for me. Did you try to restart it?”

Now, he was getting ridiculous. “I restarted it thrice. I'm telling you, Edward, the system is not responding. Can you help me or not?”

“I'm a genius, not your private IT support, Crane!”

“You're not very supportive when it comes to other things either...”

“Your point?” Nigma hissed and Scarecrow took a moment to calculate his next move.

“I'm just saying, it would have spared us this entire conversation, had you helped me to install the system in the first place when I asked you to.”

It didn't sit well with Edward. Judging by the sound he made, Jonathan could basically imagine his angry facial expression with that usual twitch of his right eye.

“Didn't it cross your narrow, fear-obsessed mind that I, The Riddler, have more important things to do than driving through half of this wretched city, just to help YOU – of all people – with your sad excuse of a security system!”

Scarecrow stayed quiet, enjoying this not-so-unexpected outburst, and knowing Nigma's verbal abilities the show had only started. He was wrong, though. Riddler got straight to the point. 

“You're only calling me when you NEED something!”

“You told me not to contact you, remember? You said that someone might track the signal.”

“I DO remember, I have a photographic memory, you moron! And don't try to explain your lack of decency with the safety measures!”

So this was where it hurt, Scarecrow took a mental note, not enough attention – how typical of Edward. It'd be a sin not to use it against him now.

“Yes, you're right,” Jonathan agreed, his tone almost apologetic. “I should have called you earlier.”

“I'm always right!”

“That might be true... So... What's causing the problem with my system?”

Nigma fell silent and Scarecrow felt that pleasant warm sensation of a little victory.

“You messed with the settings, that's what! Give me a moment, I'll hack into your computer and...”

“It would be easier if you just came here and see the devices.”

He heard Riddler's sigh. “Fine,” the man agreed, maybe not too enthusiastically but still. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

As he hanged up, Scarecrow allowed himself to smirk. It was so easy to have Edward exactly where he wanted him. All it took was a made-up technical problem and a bit of manipulation.


	4. Each to their own

Down on his knees and with his back turned, Nigma fiddled around with a bunch of cables tangled under the computer desk. He was mumbling something about what he'd read on the internet, and how he was going to need some new device.

Scarecrow didn't listen. He just stood there quietly, only a few steps behind Riddler's back, and he let his gaze wander lazily from the small paint-stains on the floor, to Nigma's shoes-lances – artfully unfolded – and up to the green, baggy pants that hung on the man's skinny ass. Even with the belt keeping them in place, these lovely, loose pants seemed to try their hardest to reveal the color of Edward's underwear and more – to make sure his butt crack was showing.

This thoughts-absorbing 'view' intruded Jon's mind and kept him occupied for much longer than he would have liked to. As Riddler crawled back from under the desk, Scarecrow had already known where this meeting was heading to. And when he finally held him close, Jonathan couldn't stop but wonder... What sense did it make? Why did the Riddler allow these things to happen?

“Will you do one more thing for me?” The murmur-like sound came out of Scarecrow's throat in the form of – what he hoped was – a seductive question.

“That depends,” the man in his arms smirked, cocking his head slightly to the right – a clear sign that he was indeed internally debating some sort of a deal – a compromise, perhaps? “What can you offer me in return, doctor?”

"I'll give you what you need."

The row of toxin-vials strapped across Scarecrow's chest was like a cold wall between them, making their current position on top of the desk more uncomfortable than it should have been. With all the metal and toughened glass painfully pressing onto Edward's body, the man must have found it hard to relax, yet he did a damn good job of ignoring it. He also ignored the smell of rotting flesh coming from what Scarecrow called his face, and the bitter taste of painkillers that hang all the time on the tip of Jon's tongue.

“You're a true wonder,” Jonathan murmured, said tongue now tracing over the soft skin under Edward's jawline. “Marvelous in every inch of your being.”

He could feel Riddler's lips curving into a complacent smile.

“Oh, but you know it, don't you?” There was only the slightest hint of amusement as Scarecrow continued to prize him. His long, dirty fingernails running down Edward's spine made the man shiver. “Of course you do. You're a genius. It's a privilege to be here with you.”

He moved his head away, leaving a fresh, blood-red bite-mark on Riddler's tender neck.

Edward's eyes were staring at him with a mix of criticism and want; his hands, however, were already lost in the folds of Scarecrow's old, patched-up coat. “Go on.”

Now, it was Jonathan's turn to give the other a smirk. Even with his one blind eye, he could clearly see how he got Nigma wrapped around his finger.

The irony of it was – it didn't make sense – they didn't make sense at all. The two of them, it was not going to work out, at least not for long. Jonathan was sick, his body had been torn and poorly stitched back together – just like that ugly coat he wore. And Edward? Edward didn't mind only because he himself was broken – not physically but mentally.

“You're beautiful,” Jon whispered with a voice almost endearing, and he didn't have to lie this time. There really was some kind of twisted beauty in how a bright man like Edward Nashton had slipped into madness without even noticing. Batman has broken him, Arkham has broken him, and the Riddler has done it to himself. And now, he was here with a half-dead monster, craving for every scrap of closeness and affection.

“I am,” Nigma echoed, his blueish eyes were shining with a sickeningly obvious desire. He opened his legs wider, playfully trying to pull Jonathan in but Jonathan resisted.

“So, will my beautiful super-genius be so kind and do something for me?”

“He might,” Edward chuckled, clearly enjoying both, the conversation and Scarecrow's hands going up and down his thighs.

“Then, beg for me...” All of a sudden, his fingernails dug into Nigma's legs. “Beg for me to prick you with a needle and pump you full of my new concoction.”

Riddler flinched instinctively. “I don't like this game.”

“Do it for me, Edward. I want to hear you beg for my toxin.”

“But I...” The protest was cut short by Scarecrow's hand touching the bulge between Riddler's legs.

“Hush now. It will be fun, I promise.”

“You think I don't know you're trying to trick me? As soon as I ask for it, you're going to do it. You will really drug me. And I don't... I... Mmmh...”

Jonathan knew how to be persuasive.


	5. Toxic friendship

Batman's iron fist falls upon his head with little to no mercy. The powerful blow cracks the bone of his lower jaw and sends him to the ground. Edward hits the floor, spitting blood and fighting back the bitter tears of pain.

When he looks up to see his tormenter, it isn't the Dark Knight – it's his father, in the same old, hideous lumberjack shirt and worn-out jeans. The stench of alcohol and cigs hangs upon the man as he stares Edward down with a furious glare. And Edward is ten once more, curled on the carpet, small and insignificant like a stain on a tablecloth. 

"Don't you lie to me, you lil' shit!" His father shouts, face red and twisted with rage. "I told ya to buy me a beer! Where's my money? Answer me, you moron!"

Edward's whole body shakes violently because he knows the money is gone, taken by that damn bully Curter, but his idiotic father will never believe that. He wants to explain, he tries to say something. No words come out of his throat. It feels like his lips are too numb to open, with shaky hands Edward touches his mouth just to find out that he has none.

In a jolt of panic he starts thrashing around, he is trying to scream but he can't make a sound. Where his lips used to be, there is a thick layer of skin. He digs his fingernails into his face with a single, desperate thought on his terror-struck mind – to be able to speak again somehow.

His father's face looms over him, just that it is not his father anymore. 

It's Crane, with his ugly burlap mask on his head and with a needle in his hand.

“What's the matter?” Crane asks, and his tone of voice is mocking Edward in every possible way. “You're so quiet today, my dear.” A long finger slides down Riddler's cheek. “Don't you like the things I do to you?”

Edwards wants to beg him for help, tell him to stop this horrible madness. He can't – he is mute. And Crane doesn't even seem to notice his distress, he leans in as if for a sweet-sweet goodnight kiss. Then, Edward sees it...

Crane has no eyes! He is just a dead husk with bony hands and empty eye sockets. Riddler's beating heart freezes with dread. He can sense something even more terrible as he spots a movement beneath Scarecrow's mask.

All of a sudden, white, slimy grave worms come out of eye-holes in Crane's burlap mask. They crawl out of Jonathan's dead, hollow body, it makes Edward's stomachs flip upside down.

He feels too sick to look at this horror. He squeezes his eyelids shut but it's good for nothing. Fear and disgust, sorrow and hurt – they won't go away, they’re inside his brain.

-#-

Edward couldn't see it, not in this phase of the hallucinations, but Jonathan was watching him closely the entire time. He was sitting on the edge of his 'patient's' bed, listening to every breath, every mumbled word and every strangled scream – trying to memorize even the smallest detail.

With the dedication of a true scientist, he studied Edward's muscles as they tensed and trembled in waves of stress. He observed Riddler's eye movements with sheer fascination, and at the same time he was taking his pulse to control the whole process.

It was only a small dosage of toxin but Jonathan wanted to be rather safe than sorry. After all, his precious volunteer was such a fragile thing beneath that self-confidence, intellect and bravado.

At first, he intended to only watch the show, to feed his hungry eyes with the delicious display of fear. However, when he had heard Edward apologizing to his long-dead father, Scarecrow felt for the first time in a long time that this session could turn into something more.

It was unprofessional of him perhaps, to lean toward the patient, to caress his cheek and wipe away the tears. But Jonathan did exactly that and he regretted nothing. He loved seeing Edward so broken and weak. He cherished the despair in his blueish eyes. Knowing that this proud and selfish man was so completely at his mercy – this thought alone sent pleasant shivers down Scarecrow's spine. It made him feel alive.

Then, Edward called his name, he cried for Jon to help him. His hoarse voice and pitiful pleading were the only encouragements Crane needed. He played a role in Riddler's little bad dream – that was flattery above all. Acting on an impulse, he leaned in even closer, his burlap mask just an inch away from Edward's petrified face.

The man on the bed shut his eyes tight, a frightened gasp escaping his lips. And Scarecrow couldn't help it, he found it too alluring. He let his eager hand travel Edward's shaking body in an unexpected need for physical contact.

“Don't be afraid,” he whispered into his patient's ear, his words heavy with some dark desires, “be terrified, my dear. Enjoy your pretty nightmares.”

He let his body rest next to Edward's, allowing himself to play with Riddler's hair. His gaze wandered aimlessly through the little bedroom until an object on the nightstand caught his interest. The orange glow inside the syringe seemed to be calling for him with its fearsome glory. It was all too tempting to increase the dosage. He knew he shouldn't... But perhaps...

“Perhaps we should have some more fun tonight?”


	6. Pillow talk

The bedsheet reeked of more than just sweat but he didn't feel like dwelling on that. The unpleasant smell didn't bother him much, at least not as much as the pain in his chest, his splitting headache and the sore throat. His muscles hurt too, and the skin over his wrists was so damn' itchy that he didn't have to check to know that there had to be red stripes around them – surely left by restrains. He had spent the majority of last night tied up to the bed – and the person responsible for this whole ordeal was still lying next to him like nothing had ever happened.

“...you asleep, asshole?” Edward barely sounded like himself, his voice harsh and husky from too much screaming. “You better be dead...” he whispered venomously, trying to get on his elbows and glance at the man on the other side of the bed.

Crane was indeed sleeping, he was stripped of his fear-gear, his long, brown coat and his boots were missing as well but his leather pants and black shirt were still on. With his motionless body, cadaverous features, and with one arm still around Edward's waist the man looked rather harmless and somewhat vulnerable, innocent even. And Edward hated it – he hated this selfish sadist with all his might!

A half-empty syringe was resting on the nightstand, Edward spotted it from the corner of his bloodshot eye. It was the real reason why he had spent the last night tied up, facing his inner demons and trying not to die of a heart attack. 

Not knowing why, he reached for a pillow. He stared Scarecrow down for a long, long while and let his sinister thoughts run free until they set into place to form a logical solution.

It was so easy to press the pillow to Jonathan's face, over his nose and mouth. Edward's sweating hands kept it there as he started the countdown, waiting for the inevitable.

It took around eleven seconds for Scarecrow's body to start noticing the lack of air supply. Another five and Crane began to flail. He wasn't awake but his medulla didn't need him to be, to react. The neural impulse was already sent to his primary motor cortex, telling the body to get the oxygen supply back in order to sustain the life processes.

After twenty-two seconds Riddler was sure that Scarecrow woke up for good. It was then, when a bony hand clutched his aching wrist, squeezing it with force.

“You can try to run, you can try to cheat, at the very end we will always meet. What am I?” Edward hissed through his gritted teeth and kept pressing the pillow down as hard as he could.

He needed one more minute and thirty-six seconds, possibly less, 'till Crane would lose consciousness and after that, his life. 

It really wasn't such a big deal for a rogue like Riddler to kill a man – especially one stupid enough to dare messing with Edward Nigma! By now, he had to use his own body-weight to pin Scarecrow down and keep him in place. Crane wriggled, his sharp nails were digging painfully into Edward's skin but it wasn't quite enough to get free.

As Riddler counted twenty-seven seconds, Jonathan's grip suddenly loosened. The scrawny body gave up on the struggle and Crane simply stopped fighting back.

This abrupt change made Edward furious. “Don't you think I won't kill you just because...”

He didn't get to finish. Crane's quick fist sank into his side, just under his ribs.

Edward gasped in both – surprise and pain, and Scarecrow used this moment of weakness without hesitation. In no time, Riddler found himself forcefully shoved to the side and trapped under Crane's lanky body, with both arms firmly held in Jonathan's bird-like clutches.

That was the final straw. Edward lost all control as a wild, dramatic howl burst out of his lungs. He didn't sound like a human anymore. His whole frustration and all of his rage had been compressed into this single shout. As the growl slowly died down and only his shallow breath remained, Riddler felt like it was high time to address some issues.

“You fuckin' bastard...” he slurred with an effort, it was a miracle he was still able to speak. “How could you?!”

Crane didn't reply. He let go of Edward's hands and Edward immediately use that opportunity to punch him in the arm.

“How could you do that?!” He punched him again and again, letting out his fury. “You think this is funny? To go through all those memories? You know damn well I won't forget it! I won't because I can’t!”

His voice cracked and Edward finally went silent, only his breath was loud and heavy. He punched one last time and Scarecrow didn't stop him. His hand then lingered on Crane's shoulder, clutching into the soft material in a desperate grasp.

“It was for your own good,” Jonathan informed him with that ungodly stoic expression of his.

“Bullshit,” Edward spat back, and it came out weaker than it really should have. “Do you think I'm stupid? I know what you were doing. You got off to my fear reaction while I was hallucinating.”

Crane neither denied nor confirmed, he didn't have to, Edward could easily guess the truth by the state the bed was in. It smelled like sweat and sperm; and the way Crane had fallen asleep, holding Edward as if he owned him – it was also telling.

“We both have our...quirks, won't you agree?” Crane's grim face looked like he wanted to smirk.

“That's not the same! We had a deal! I agreed to 0,33 milligrams – but of course, you had to increase the goddamned dosage! Would it kill you not to do that?” He kept yelling, tugging at Scarecrow's shirt. “How could you do this to me? I-I...”

“You trusted me?” Crane finished the sentence that stuck in Riddler's throat. “Sorry to disappoint you, you should have known better. I'm not a very trustworthy man.” There was no apology, no shame in him. Riddler had enough of that crap.

“Get out!”

Jonathan didn't move, he was looking rather confused.

“I said, GET OUT!” Riddler shrieked, his entire body now shaking with hatred. He sprung back up with the speed of lightning, grabbed the syringe and threw it at the wall on the opposite side of the bedroom. “Didn't you hear me, you moron! I told you to get the hell out!!!”

Surprisingly enough, Scarecrow didn't protest. He scrambled out of the bed and limped toward the exit, coat-less and barefooted. Edward angrily tossed his shoes after him one by one, each missing the target.

“Just...,” Crane spoke up from the doorway. “...this is actually my hideout.”

Riddler threw a pillow at him, the very same one he had intended to murder him with earlier.

"Go smother yourself, Crane!"


End file.
